


night winds

by cirrus (themorninglark)



Series: SASO 2017 [24]
Category: Free!, Prince of Stride: Alternative (Anime)
Genre: Challenge: Sports Anime Shipping Olympics | SASO 2017, Crossover, M/M, Post-Canon, roommates au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 15:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11581293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/cirrus
Summary: There’s the fleeting shadow of an answering smile at Kyousuke’s lips. He reaches back, grabs a spare helmet and throws it at Nao, who catches it with pitch-perfect reflexes he spent another lifetime honing.“Come with me, if you like,” says Kyousuke, and Nao does.





	night winds

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SASO 2017 Bonus Round 4: Quotes | [originally posted here](http://sportsanime.dreamwidth.org/23665.html?thread=14259825#cmt14259825)
> 
> "You cannot get in the way of anyone’s path to happiness, it also does no good. The problem is figuring out which part is the path and which part is the happiness."  
> ― Richard Siken, _War of the Foxes_

At 3 AM, Nao’s up for a drink of water, and the black jacket’s gone from behind the front door.  
  
It’s the kind of night that brims with cloudy dreams, the kind of night, he knows, that cleaves close and quiet and that you forget when you wake, and as Nao takes in the empty spot on the hook, sets his glass down on the counter and looks out at the driveway, he wonders if he will make it in time if he heads out now.  
  
On cue, there’s a revving like a low purr below their window.   
  
Trailing considerations in his wake, Nao grabs his own windbreaker, pulls on his sneakers in a hurry and runs down the stairs. He is panting just a little by the time he reaches the bottom step. He finds his smile anyway, and his voice is light when he speaks.   
  
“Hey, Kyousuke,” he calls. “Nice weather, huh?”  
  
Kyousuke’s head snaps up. He’s got his helmet on, one leg swung over the seat already. In the dim light, Nao can’t make out his eyes widening behind the visor, but he can picture it anyway.  
  
Nao beams. “Your jacket was gone. You don’t take your jacket running.”   
  
There’s the fleeting shadow of an answering smile at Kyousuke’s lips. He reaches back, grabs a spare helmet and throws it at Nao, who catches it with pitch-perfect reflexes he spent another lifetime honing.  
  
“Come with me, if you like,” says Kyousuke, and Nao does.  
  
It smells of a raw summer storm in the air, rain on the grass, rain on the damp earth and the pavement. Nao breathes it all in as he straps on the helmet and gets on the bike behind Kyousuke. It’s not his first time riding pillion. Kyousuke gives him lifts sometimes, to class when he’s running late, to his part-time job at the swimming club, and Nao’s comfortable here, his arms winding easy round Kyousuke’s waist.  
  
It’s not his first time riding pillion, but it is a rare occasion that Kyousuke takes him on one of these night rides to nowhere. He is filled with surprising kindnesses, Nao has learned. These include stepping with infinite care, closing the door with barely a whisper so he won’t disturb Nao.  
  
As they take off, Nao thinks: the wind is louder at this hour.  
  
Unlike Kyousuke, he does not make a habit of talking to the wind, and so he cannot read the timbre of it; but tearing down the streets like this, Kyousuke’s hair whipping back like a moonlit curtain, Nao would be hard-pressed to say that it is nothing at all. More than restless murmurs, more than a swelling chorus of cicadas and the constant buzz of power lines.   
  
The first time he’d told Kyousuke about his condition, they’d been at home, having cup noodles for supper because that was what university students did. Nao had smiled his way through like he always did, armed with reassurances, ready for the inevitable sympathy.  
  
Kyousuke had offered none. He had listened, and he had finished his noodles in silence, and then he had remarked:  _the wind is gentle tonight. Come with me, if you like._  
  
That ride had been a daring glimmer, a glimpse of an open road that could be  _his_ , could be  _theirs_ , and Nao did not need to ask what it was that Kyousuke chased with such a single-minded focus. He saw it crystal clear himself, through the veil of all his compromises.   
  
Tonight, the wind is not gentle.   
  
Nao closes his eyes for a moment, rests his cheek on Kyousuke’s shoulder and lets it sing to him, glad of the fact that it is no lullaby, for there are times he needs to be awake. There are times he needs to live.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [to live, to feel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11854302) by [ewagan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ewagan/pseuds/ewagan)




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